A Soul Shared
by X-parrot
Summary: Sooner or later, all things come to an end, and all that can be done is to say goodbye...


Here goes...my first TR fic. Actually this is the first   
time I've ever written a fanfic for an anime before, and   
considering how few episodes of Pokemon I've seen...ah,   
well. *shrug* I was inspired! Blame it on James; dang   
bishonen always get me...  
This is not in the spirit of the show; I can't do comedy.   
This is drama, a little sad perhaps... I'd love to know what   
you think.  
  
disclaimer - Pokemon & all its baggage belongs to somebody   
else. Otherwise I'd be one heck of a lot richer.  
  
And away we go...  
  
/ / / / / / / / / / / /  
  
a soul shared  
  
by X-parrot  
  
  
Though the sun had barely risen, the doctor came as soon as   
they called. He was a tall, gaunt man, with his mother's   
red hair mostly faded to gray and sparsely spread over his   
skull. But his hands were limber as a young man's, as he   
took blood and scale samples and gently prodded the snake's   
long, wan length.  
  
"I'm sorry," he told them at last. "You've taken excellent   
care of it, but..."  
  
"How...how much longer?"  
  
He glanced between the two. "Tell us the truth," the man   
asked quietly.  
  
The doctor sighed. He had given these verdicts before, to   
dozens of tearful masters in countless different   
circumstances. It didn't get any easier--he had long ago   
resolved to quit if ever it did. But when it was this   
personal..."Maybe a few days. At most a couple weeks."  
  
She swallowed, then, suddenly, turned to press her head   
against her husband's sleeve, hiding her eyes. He put his   
arms around her, after so many decades no longer awkwardly,   
and rubbed her back.  
  
The doctor folded his equipment back into the pouch. "I'm   
sorry. Really, James, Jessie...I've done everything--"  
  
"I know," James said, raspily. He was always hoarse,   
nowadays, and the lump in his throat wasn't helping.   
"You're a credit to your parents, Cole."  
  
There was a time he would never have imagined saying that to   
a Ketchum and actually meaning it. But Cole deserved the   
acclaim, and more--he'd followed in his mother's footsteps   
and become the best pokemon doctor in the country. Probably   
in the world.  
  
And it still wasn't enough.  
  
Jessie pulled back, scraping her palm across her eyes.   
"Thank you," she said, too softly. "I'm sorry..." Leaning   
forward in her chair, she reached for her pokemon, pulling   
the giant cobra's head into her lap and tracing her fingers   
along the ridges over its cloudy eyes.  
  
"Chh...arbok," it hissed faintly.  
  
James laid one hand on his wife's silver hair. She closed   
her eyes, and he saw the tears shimmering under the papery   
lids. "I'll walk you out," he told the doctor, to give her   
the privacy she needed.  
  
"I'm sorry," Cole said again, once the door closed. He   
scrubbed his face with his hands. "It's hard being a doctor   
sometimes. No matter how much we learn, time always wins.   
Reptile pokemon have long lives, but..."  
  
James's hand still rested on the gilt knob. He looked back   
as if to see through the carved oak panel to his wife behind   
it. "Most pokemon don't live as long as people."  
  
"The dragons, and the fairy types. Ruby's still with   
Jigglypuff, and it hasn't even evolved yet. And my favorite   
Chansey will probably see my grandkids grow old." The   
doctor glanced at the older man. "Speaking of   
grandkids...well, I guess you'd know about that as well as   
me."  
  
"I know Jackson's a wreck," James replied, with a little   
more energy. "He calls every day to assure me I'm not a   
great granddad yet. I don't think he was this rattled when   
Maggie was expecting."  
  
Cole chuckled faintly. "It's different when it's your own   
daughter giving birth. I know. Maggie keeps telling me   
she's fine, but you know my sister, she'll be a rock right   
until Jeri goes into labor. Then all bets are off. I don't   
think she believes she's going to be a grandma."  
  
"I know how she feels. Jess has been saying being a   
grandmother for thirty years is bad enough, but she'll get   
out every fan in her collection when Jeri brings the baby   
over." It would be nice to have a baby in the house again.   
Jackson had grown up so fast, and his three children even   
faster. Still, that little Jeri could be old enough to be   
married, and giving birth, when it seemed like just   
yesterday he had been giving Jackson his first pokeball...  
  
"So...how is she?"  
  
James started from his thoughts. "How's Jessie?"  
  
Cole nodded.  
  
"She's all right." James ran a hand through his hair. He   
still had nearly all of it, miraculously, and that it was   
snow-white he was also grateful. The blue had looked   
ridiculous enough in his youth. "Some days are better...the   
other ones...I do what I can."  
  
"I'm glad you know how she's really feeling," the doctor   
said seriously. "Especially with Arbok... That much pain,   
she shouldn't keep it to herself."  
  
"She tells me. She didn't want to at first, but..."   
Independent had been Jessie's middle name as long as he'd   
known her; he'd always loved that in her. But he loved her   
all the more that she shared this. Not only because of the   
trust it affirmed. Though she might have actually been   
strong enough for her burden, he knew he couldn't have borne   
his side alone.  
  
"How about yourself? The heart's not giving you much   
trouble?"  
  
James shrugged. "Same as usual. As long as it's pumping,   
eh?"   
  
They walked in silence for a moment. Every day the door got   
further away, James swore. Damn inherited mansion.   
Sometimes he wished his folks had been more into quaint and   
cozy, or at least had thought to equip the sprawling   
monstrosity with a shuttle. They were only halfway down the   
hallway. He leaned on his cane and kept shuffling his feet   
along the polished marble floor.  
  
The doctor was opening his mouth. James beat him to the   
punch. "And how are your parents?"  
  
"Mom's loving being a great-grandmother," Cole said readily,   
though he realized the conversation was being deliberately   
steered. "It almost makes up for retirement, she says.   
Jeri's announcement thrilled her; she can't wait to be one   
twice over."  
  
"And your dad?"  
  
The doctor's smile softened. "He's...the same old brat,   
you'd say. He's on a voyage with Gail and her boys--Sis   
wanted to personally check out that rumor of the new pokemon   
off Indigo Coast. Mom told Dad to go, to 'make sure his   
daughter stays out of trouble.'" He sobered. "She knew he   
needed to get out. Have an adventure. He hasn't really   
traveled since, well..."  
  
James nodded. "How long ago was that? Five years? Six?"  
  
"Ten."  
  
"You're joking. Good grief." He heaved a sigh. "Has he   
ever fought pokemon since?"  
  
Cole shook his head. "Don't think he ever will again, even   
if it wasn't his fault. That last battle didn't kill it,   
really. Its heart would have given out if it'd been asleep   
into a pokeball. And that's what Pikachu wanted, to go out   
fighting. Even if it had ever evolved to a Raichu it   
should've died years before. Mice pokemon just don't live   
that long."  
  
"Pikachu was special." James nearly smiled. "That was   
always why we were after it, but we learned it more every   
plan we tried. Did I ever tell you about the time--"  
  
"Yes," the doctor chuckled.  
  
"But I didn't--"  
  
"I know them all. From five or six different perspectives,   
a lot of 'em. I knew I was getting old when my kids started   
complaining I was repeating the stories you guys had all   
repeated to me."  
  
"At least you remember them."  
  
Cole stopped, put a hand on the old man's shoulder.   
"Always, Uncle James."  
  
"Isn't a grandfather a little old to be using childhood   
names?"  
  
"You and Brock were more like uncles than any of Mom's   
sisters' husbands," Cole said. "You were so much more fun!   
It was great watching you and Dad argue--that was about the   
only time we could believe those stories about you being in   
Team Rocket."  
  
"We were."  
  
"I know." They had finally made it to the entryway. The   
doctor paused before opening the door. "Is that why you   
don't visit much? You know Mom and Dad don't hold a grudge.   
You're welcome there anytime. Or at my house, or my kids'.   
Any of us. We'd love to see you more."  
  
"We don't have any flying pokemon," James said shortly.   
"And travel's hard these days."  
  
"I know, with Jessie...but maybe just one trip. It would   
mean a lot to Dad... Mom's been worried about him. We all   
are. Since Brock passed away..." Cole's stooped shoulders   
fell further in remembrance of his father-in-law. "It was   
long before that, though. I keep remembering something I   
think Luna told me, or Flint. A bit of lore they'd picked   
up somewhere.  
  
"There's this old tradition that the best pokemon masters   
don't just train them. It's more than raising them,   
fighting them...the true masters, they put a part of   
themselves in their pokemon. That's how they bond so   
strongly. Why some masters can get incredible obedience,   
why some pokemon have abilities far beyond the average.   
They share a piece of their heart, their soul.  
  
"I don't know what that means, when you take away the   
mysticism--maybe that's all it is, a myth. But in my job   
I've seen how close people can be with their pokemon. And I   
know, when that little electric mouse died, something in my   
father did, too. Maybe it was part of his heart, at that."  
  
Maybe it was. They recited the proper pleasantries and   
farewells, and Cole reiterated his apologies, assuring that   
he was on call whenever they needed him, no matter the hour.   
But as James made his slow way back up the hall, it wasn't   
the doctor's promise that occupied his thoughts.  
  
Piece of his heart. Remembering as he always would, with   
utter clarity, the moment he lost Growley, he was hit even   
now with a wave of denial. It had been an Arcanine, in   
perfect health--it was still inconceivable that the fight   
should have gone so wrong. Such an honor, to be asked to   
battle a pokemon so unique, so powerful. But Growley was   
its match. He had been so sure. The Arcanine leapt   
forward, mane blazing, fierce and triumphant, joyful to   
fight for its master, eager to prove the prowess of its   
newly evolved state.  
  
And then the creature struck, and again, and again, as no   
pokemon ever fought. Vicious, sadistic--why hadn't they   
been told? Why hadn't they guessed why this mission had   
been theirs? Order the most expendable to try to defeat the   
monster...and they had. Their one impossible moment of   
success.  
  
But the cost. Blood on his hands, his pokemon's blood, his   
best friend's life, dead in his hands.  
  
He'd cried, and hadn't been able to stop, hadn't even been   
able to be ashamed. The tears just kept flowing. And   
Jessie...  
  
Jessie, Jessie always so strong, so angry; Jessie the bitch,   
the others all said. Jessie his teammate, whom he had   
almost convinced himself didn't care about him, though he   
couldn't stop caring for her. It was Jessie who held him,   
without saying anything for a long, long time, and when she   
did it was so gently he didn't recognize her voice. He knew   
then he loved her, and for a time that was all that   
mattered, the only thing that could matter. Not until   
sometime later did he know for certain she loved him, and   
then those two truths were enough to heal the hole in his   
heart.  
  
When he was mazed by grief, no good to anyone, it was Jessie   
who had marched into Giovanni's office and, as she always   
put it, 'tendered their resignation,' though everyone knew   
you couldn't quit Team Rocket.   
  
James never knew precisely what she said or did, but they   
never donned their uniforms again, and they only tried to   
steal Pikachu a few more times before giving up the private   
pokemon black market as a lost cause in favor of a better   
business. It had been odd at first, designing inventions   
with legal uses, but easy enough once they got the hang of   
it. A number of their original gadgets were still selling   
well, and the corporation they had established netted enough   
profit that when James's parents actually died, his family's   
wealth was only a drop in the bucket. Jessibel was far from   
happy to learn he outclassed her by several tax brackets.  
  
Her expression was one of his most treasured memories.   
Nearly a match to Brock's, when they had offered to sponsor   
his pokemon breeding ranch. But none of that held a candle   
to Jessie's face, the night he offered her the engagement   
ring. She'd all but fainted in his arms. Meowth had always   
maintained it was out of sheer shock that he'd had the guts   
to ask.  
  
Lost in memory, he was smiling when he opened the door.   
Then he saw Jessie, hunched over her Arbok, thin shoulders   
shaking, her sobs punctuated by the wracking coughs he had   
come to hate more than any other sound. For a moment he   
forgot the stiffness of his limps and the ache in his back,   
hastening across the room to wrap his arms around her.  
  
Was there a time she would have resisted his embrace? He   
had always hugged her, it seemed. But she hadn't always   
leaned against him like this, as if he were all that   
supported her weight. Little as that was. She had never   
felt so fragile. Holding her so closely, he was agonizingly   
aware of the recent loss. More than the delicacy of age;   
only dry skin stretched over her angled bones, the flesh   
burned away by the sickness. Like a bird, gossamer feathers   
drawn over frail twigs. Not his Jessie at all.  
  
Slowly the shudders decreased, though she didn't raise her   
head from his shoulder. Her gnarled hands remained on   
Arbok, caressing the sleek scales, their purple-black dull   
and faded with age. "Did Cole say anything else?" she asked   
at last.  
  
"Not really." His own hands massaged her neck under the   
thick silver mane. "It sounds like Ash and Misty are   
looking forward to Jeri's baby as much as we are."  
  
"They've already got a great-grandchild," she said   
peevishly, a glimmer of her old sniping.  
  
"Mm-hm. I wonder when Jackson will call today."  
  
"Our son's an idiot. She's not due for another month."  
  
"He wants to stay in touch." James stopped before he   
analyzed the reasons for that. He kept his fingers moving,   
careful to be gentle lest he bruise her brittle skin.  
  
Arbok hissed in wordless contentment as her nails scratched   
the dry scales behind the eyes. Jessie flinched. "He   
said...Cole said only a couple of days..."  
  
"Or weeks," her husband reminded.  
  
"Maybe." She lifted her head, violet eyes narrowing in a   
look of determination so familiar he caught his breath.   
"They could be wrong. They were wrong about me..."  
  
The doctors had told her six months at most. Almost a year   
ago, now. She had had only one comment when they gave her   
the diagnosis. "At least I'm not losing my mind." Not   
Alzheimer's or some other rot to prey on her thoughts;   
senility was no longer a concern. He loved her more than   
ever, in that moment.  
  
They had elected to tell no one except Jackson, and he had   
kept that secret, among all the others he had let slip.   
Their other family and friends knew she was sick, but not   
the extent. They didn't need to know. Even if they'd care-  
-Jessie was inclined to believe they wouldn't, really; James   
knew otherwise. But she didn't want their pity, and she   
didn't need to be treated like an invalid, or worse a woman   
already dead. Instead everyone behaved normally around her,   
down to jumping back when she got mad to avoid the fan she   
still occasionally swatted people with. And she lived, in   
pain and always weaker, but still herself.  
  
Jackson was terribly worried, but tried not to show it. And   
James could treat her no different, because he could not   
accept it; for all that he knew the truth in his head, his   
heart would not allow him to believe the possibility of her   
loss. Sooner lose his own heart, than hers to stop.  
  
Sometimes he thought she was holding on for him. But other   
times he wondered if it was for Arbok's sake, staying with   
her pokemon as it had stayed by her all these years.  
  
He didn't care why, as long as she did.  
  
"Perrrr."   
  
At the low rumble he looked over her head to the door. The   
Persian on the threshold inclined its head gracefully.   
"Jessie. James. Brunch is ready. Will you come, or should   
I have them bring it?"  
  
"We'll come," Jessie said. It nodded once, then curved its   
sinuous form around in the doorway and disappeared with a   
wave of its long tail. Unlike its parent, Meowth's child   
only used words when they were needed; a nip or a swipe with   
its sharp claws was enough to order the servants around,   
like as not. This was balanced by the perfect politeness it   
always showed Jessie and James, for reasons neither they nor   
Meowth had ever been clear about.  
  
"Help me up," Jessie commanded, an imperious tone to   
counteract the feebleness the request implied. James   
obeyed, gripping her arms as lightly as he could and still   
brace her. Leaning on him, she caressed Arbok's broad nose   
and whispered promises she would return. The snake hissed   
understanding, raising its head enough to flicker its tongue   
against her cheek.  
  
Her face was pinched with pain as she moved to the door,   
James close as her shadow, forgoing the cane to assist her.   
When they were in the hall, she murmured, low as if she   
thought she would be overheard, "What happens to pokemon   
when they die?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"What do you believe happens?" she pressed impatiently. "Do   
they disappear? Do they go to heaven? Are they   
reincarnated as other pokemon, or people? What happens?"  
  
He tried to think if they had ever discussed this before.   
He couldn't remember. "I don't know."  
  
"You've got to believe something. You go to the Lavender   
Town temple every year, don't you?" He did, to pay homage   
to Growley's tomb, though why he couldn't say. "Are they   
like people? When we die, do we all end up in the same   
place? What do you think?"  
  
"I don't know what happens to people, either. Though I   
don't think Meowth would've made it to heaven..." He felt   
guilty as soon as he said it, for making a joke about the   
dead, for insulting an old friend. For not having thought   
of Meowth in too long, because it was painful to remember.   
Neither of them had told stories about their Team Rocket   
days for a couple years after Meowth died. It hadn't seemed   
right, describing his great plans without him there to   
embellish them further, laughing at their failures when one   
of them was gone. They'd been a team, and much as he loved   
being part of this couple, James dearly missed their   
threesome.  
  
Jessie was occupied with her own thoughts, perhaps the same,   
or entirely different. Before they entered the dining room,   
he asked her, "What do you think happens?"  
  
Her whisper was faint as Arbok's hiss. "I don't know."  
  
***  
  
Jessie had been well that day. She paid for it the next.   
Before dawn James awoke to her coughs, ragged in minutes;   
she could hardly catch her breath. Arbok was little   
better. He had the pokemon brought to their room and draped   
it over the bed, wrapping around her like a mantle. Its   
breath wheezing in its narrow lungs, it rested its massive   
head on her breast and was happy.  
  
James was reminded of how the snake used to watch their   
child, and later grandchildren. He had initially been   
uneasy to have Jackson nearby when Arbok was out of the   
pokeball, but Jessie had argued for her pokemon, and the   
cobra proved to be as fond of their son as the boy was of   
it. He often fell asleep happily tangled in its coils. His   
children had delighted in the snake as well; Arbok had been   
left to babysit more than once. They'd come back from an   
evening out to find Brook playing with its tail, Jeri   
patting its head, and the baby safely cradled in a loop of   
its middle.  
  
Jessie was sleeping there that afternoon, but not like a   
baby, the creases around her eyes sharpened by pain, cheeks   
hollowed. He was chary to wake her, but she blinked when   
his weight disturbed the mattress. Arbok didn't stir.  
  
"Jessie?" She nodded. "I talked to Cole again, and also   
Ruby. We're setting up an incubator for Arbok downstairs.   
Like they have at pokecenters. It might help. Also..." He   
hesitated. "I talked to Ruby about the Healite spring. You   
remember, she mentioned it before? Those water pokemon they   
just discovered, the ones who can cure..."  
  
"They wouldn't let me go," Jessie whispered.  
  
"They wouldn't let Arbok go," he corrected gently. "They're   
really shy, the Healites. It took a lot of training before   
they'd let people near. Other pokemon still scare them."  
  
"Arbok needs me." She trailed her fingers over the waning   
orange pattern on the cobra's hood.  
  
"Maybe..." He stopped. After, he had been about to say,   
after Arbok died. As if he were waiting for it to happen,   
as if it were just a date, a way to mark time. Before   
death, and after death. Not a loss, an ending...  
  
Too much death. Too many had died, if that was all death   
was to him, a transition. Or maybe this was right.   
Acclimatization, so when the end came for him he would be   
ready.  
  
"I miss Weezing, sometimes," he said instead. Jessie looked   
at him. He shrugged. "I know, it's not the same." The gas   
pokemon had eventually split into three Coffings, all of   
which had since evolved to Weezing and divided themselves.   
"All its progeny are great, but I remember when it was just   
Coffing...the only pokemon I had, back at Pokemon Tech. It   
was different, then."  
  
"Weezing," murmured Jessie. "And Growley, you still miss   
him." She leaned back against Arbok's coils. "When I got   
Ekans... It was my first pokemon. I was so happy, to have   
one at last. And it was a snake--there were girls afraid   
just because it was a snake. That was great. I'd just take   
out its pokeball and they'd run. Fighting it was even   
better. And when it evolved...cobras are so beautiful. The   
pattern, the hood, the grace...aren't they?"  
  
"Arbok is beautiful," he agreed, wholeheartedly.  
  
"And strong. The strongest. Aren't you," she murmured into   
its hidden ear. "You're more powerful than dragons."  
  
"Larger, too," James pointed out, resting a hand on the   
giant, scaled side. He'd never seen an Arbok as big. At   
one time it had indeed been a match for a dragon.   
  
But now its fight was gone. There was an old axiom that a   
pokemon that didn't fight had to be dead--and cursed not to   
be a ghost. Arbok could no longer battle, and it faded   
further every day. The incubator was no solution. James   
knew the doctor's estimate had been generous. A few days   
was a more likely span than even a single week.  
  
When they brought Arbok to the incubator, Jessie walked   
beside it, one hand on its rippling length and the other   
wrapped around James's arm for support. She was shivering   
with exertion by the time they made to the study, crumpling   
into the waiting chair like a leaf-stuffed scarecrow. But   
she refused to leave her pokemon's side until long after   
darkness fall, when she was sure it was settled. As she   
left, it raised its head far enough to watch her, weaving   
with effort, and hissed, "Chhh-ar-harbok..." the longest   
articulation it had made in days.  
  
Jessie coughed throughout the night, until tears streamed   
down her face. James held her close and begged for her   
relief. It was hours before they subsided enough for her to   
sleep, and he remained awake after she drifted off, counting   
each faint gasp of her failing lungs.  
  
The next day Arbok barely moved at all. Jessie sat in the   
chair by its incubator, wrapped in an afghan though the room   
was too warm even to James.   
  
At dinner time he brought a tray of food for them to eat   
together. When he reached the study he paused, wondering if   
his hearing aid might be damaged. But opening the door he   
found her singing, faint and gentle. A lullaby that he had   
taught her. Hearing it brought him back years, through   
layers and layers of memory. One of his nannies, singing it   
to him, long before he ran away from home the first time.   
Then he singing to Jessie, on the road one evening, a joke   
while discussing Jigglypuff's tactics. Much later, they   
sang it together to Jackson, with Meowth making an   
unorthodox trio.  
  
He didn't remember the lyrics anymore, and she sang now with   
only melody. Arbok nestled against her, great eyes wide,   
entranced, and James no less so. When she finished, he   
didn't move until Jessie spoke. "Do you know the words?"  
  
"I was just wondering if you did."  
  
She sighed and shook her head, slowly. He could see tears   
winding their way down the lines of her face. "I brought   
dinner," he said.  
  
"I'm not hungry."  
  
"You didn't have lunch, either. Have you eaten at all   
today?"  
  
She shook her head again, patting Arbok's scaled head.  
  
"Jessie..."  
  
"James, I'm not hungry...not at all. My stomach aches. My   
whole body..."  
  
He set the tray down on one of the desks, carefully so as   
not to rattle the dainty china. "I'm not hungry, either."  
  
She looked at him, then down at Arbok as if she couldn't   
bear to see him further. But when he hugged her, she   
wrapped her arms around him and held on as tightly as she   
could. Her tears stained his gray silk shirt; his own were   
lost in her silver hair.  
  
***  
  
She went to sleep beside him like always, but late in the   
night he awoke alone in their bed. The moon outside the   
window stretched pearly shadows across the tangled sheets.   
He turned on no lights, needing none to find his way through   
the dark mansion. But the lamp in the study was already on,   
a warm, golden glow seeping under the door to color the   
embroidered rug.  
  
The incubator was off, however, and the giant snake coiled   
in the silver womb was still, no breath animating its   
graying lengths. Jessie hunched over Arbok, cradling the   
motionless head, so gently, but her hands no longer stroking   
the ridges above its eyes. Those vast golden orbs now were   
milky, glazed. She didn't look up when James entered, but   
she spoke, brokenly. "He...said my name. He   
said...Arbok...when I came...but then...he said Jessie.   
I...heard him. He said...Jessie...and then he..."  
  
He touched her shoulder, and she was freezing, colder than   
the room, colder than Arbok's lifeless scales. Grasping the   
edge of the incubator, he lowered himself to the floor   
beside her and put his back against the incubator, then   
pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her. She   
leaned against him, not resisting, not shivering though she   
felt like ice through her gown and his nightshirt. She kept   
one hand on Arbok's head, resting between the empty eyes.  
  
"We should go back to bed," he said at last, though he knew   
he couldn't stand without assistance.  
  
She shook her head against his shoulder, tried to speak but   
coughed instead. He tightened his arms around her, as if he   
could prevent the spasms. When she trembled, he knew it   
wasn't with cold but pain, by the way her breath caught in   
her throat. It was a lifetime again before it ended, and   
when at last she slumped against him, he could feel   
everything left in her was spent. Raggedly she gasped, "I'm   
sorry...James...I'm sorry..."  
  
"It's all right," he told her, honestly. "No regrets."  
  
"None?"  
  
"Not now. Not for years." He closed his eyes.   
"Jessie...I'll always remember what a wonderful dresser you   
are."  
  
She laughed, or sobbed, or both at once. "James...I always   
remembered...how you were better...than anything...I   
ever...could be..."  
  
"You're better than anything I could dream of being," he   
said.  
  
"I love you," she whispered, grasping at his nightshirt,   
weakly, fingers digging into the thin fabric as if to tear   
it. "Always..."  
  
"I love you," he told her. "I've got you. You don't need   
to hold on anymore." He pressed his lips to the top of her   
head, until she relaxed in his embrace. Her fists   
unclenched, and she exhaled, a long, cleansing sigh.  
  
"No regrets," she echoed, and nestled her head against his   
chest.  
  
He rested his cheek on her soft hair, feeling her shoulders   
barely rise and fall under his arms. "I'm with you, Jessie.   
Always."  
  
She said nothing, but reached out to brush Arbok's sleek   
side. Then she took James's hands. He loosely closed his   
fingers around hers, resting in her lap.  
  
It seemed as if he could feel her heart beating against him.   
He lost himself in that steady cadence, in the blood flowing   
under her soft skin, in the slow rhythm of her breathing and   
the softness of her hair curling against his cheek. He   
forgot how cold she was, how chilled he was himself, how   
hard the floor was beneath the thin rug and how his joints   
ached in protest of his awkward position. Time slowed with   
her breathing, and gradually slipped away entirely, until   
all perception of it was gone, all thought of minutes and   
hours and years, all memory of age, passed by. Only him and   
her, and he was with her and she with him, and they might   
have been at their conception, the instant before birth when   
life is all and only potential.  
  
When the rhythm of her breaths ended, they had already faded   
so much he was barely aware of the cessation. It seemed   
less a pattern broken than one concluded, fittingly. There   
was no pain, not where he might have expected there to be.  
  
"No regrets," he whispered. Though he would have liked to   
see their great grandchild.  
  
"Prrrrr." The Persian's rumble was low enough to vibrate   
through him, but he barely felt its whiskers nuzzle his   
cheek. It encircled him, but his arms were numb and he   
could not feel the warmth of its body, nor see the lamp   
though he knew it was still shining.  
  
"Meowth," he said, though that was not its name. Only   
Meowth was here, that he could see. Smiling at him, that   
toothy grin that meant pure mischief.   
  
The Persian was speaking, as it rarely did, but the words   
meant nothing anymore. Growley's bark was more important,   
and Arbok's hiss. Could a snake sing?  
  
There was a pain in his chest, a burning fire of needles and   
fangs, stabbing into his heart. He couldn't breathe, as if   
his lungs were filled with smoke, yet the air smelled clean,   
like roses. But the only roses were in the dining room,   
dying in a crystal vase, and these he smelled were fresh,   
still alive on their branches, thorns and all.  
  
"James," the Persian purred, so sadly. He would have   
answered, but then he heard her laughing, aloud and full as   
she hadn't been able to for months.  
  
Would Jeri's baby be a boy or a girl? What would they name   
it?  
  
He could find out later. The pain in his heart was   
subsiding, but he could no longer catch his breath. The   
Persian rubbed its head against his shoulder, but it was   
impossible to lift his hand to scratch its round ears.   
Later. Growley wanted to play fetch. They hadn't been able   
to for so long.  
  
And she was waiting for him.  
  
James closed his eyes, and followed the other half of his   
soul.  
  
  
fin  



End file.
